


amnesiac

by mvrcredi



Series: angel/demon AUs [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fallen Angels, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve is Stephano, Temporary Amnesia, Tony is Antonius, Vessels, a maybe-sort-of plot twist, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 15:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvrcredi/pseuds/mvrcredi
Summary: Tony is a fallen angel, and Steve is the one to find him and bring him home.Now if only Tony could remember something, anything.





	amnesiac

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd.

_Screaming._

_Terrible, terrible screaming. Was that coming from him?_

_A searing pain tore down his back. Yes, it was his screaming. Black creeped into the corners of his sight. The pain was unbearable. He wasn’t sure he would ever stop screaming._

_But then he was falling. Falling, falling, falling. His screams were empty, now. There was no sound. There was nothing left. His fear was mind-numbing. There was nothing left to feel. This was it. He was going to die. He was going to fall to his death, he was going to hit the ground and—_

_Finally, he succumbs to his fear, his vision going dark._

_Nothing left to feel._

 

-=-

 

“Hey, are you alright?”

Someone was talking to him. Who was talking to him? He didn’t recognize this person. Or this place. Where _was_ he? Why was he lying down?

“Sir? Do you need me to find help?”

He blinks and sits up. He felt dizzy, his back stung. He reaches to touch his back under his shirt—it is sticky, crusted over with dried blood.

“Where am I?” He rasps, looking up. The insistent concerned party is a short, wiry man.

“Oh boy,” the man huffs. “Can you stand?”

He nods, unsure. He winces as he stands—his back feels stiff from the scabbed-over wound.

“Can you tell me your name?” The man questions softly.

He tries to remember, chewing his lip. Why couldn’t he remember his name? He shakes his head. The stranger’s shoulders slump.

“Do you remember where you live? Or where you’re from?” The man has worry etched into his expression. There was pity, too. And curiosity.

He shakes his head again. It was frustrating, not being able to remember anything. No matter how far he searched his memory, nothing came up about himself.

“Alright, then,” the stranger gives him an assessing look, biting his bottom lip pensively. “Bucky probably won’t be too happy with me, but come on. I’m not just going to leave you out here.”

Before truly realizing it, he was following the smaller man like a lost puppy. He felt self-conscious, walking through the city, whatever city it was. It felt as if everyone were staring at him, judging him. He had an overwhelming feeling as if he had done something wrong. Committed some sort of crime. But at the same time... he wasn’t certain. It was yet another thing he could not recall.

He finds himself in a mundane apartment building. He’s let up an elevator and down a hall to a door. The man then fumbles with his keys some before unlocking the door, stepping in. The stranger beckons for him.

He follows, wary. It felt like he didn’t belong there _. He didn’t belong here. This wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He should be... he should... he..._

His head was pounding. Pictures came to him in flashes. He drops to his knees clutching his head, groaning.

“Oh, god,” the stranger says, almost exasperated. He closes the door before coming over to him. “I should have really just taken you to the hospital, huh?”

He shakes his head, desperately. “No... I just... my head...”

“Yeah, I can see that. Look, if you’re not telling me anything because you don’t trust me—that’s fine, I understand. But if you have some medical thing—“

“No, I can’t... I don’t remember,” he’s saying. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Well,” the stranger bends down, sitting back on his haunches. The man gives him another calculating look. “That’s a problem.”

An intense rush of pain washes over him, just temporarily. He’s able to grasp one, just _one_ tiny thing from the overwhelming sensation.

“I-I... my name. It’s... it’s...”

The man raises an eyebrow.

“Antonius. My name... ‘s Antonius.”

“What in the hell kind of name is that?” The stranger asks, appalled. Antonius shrugs helplessly, the heels of his hands still digging into his head.

Then, suddenly, the pain evaporates. Antonius grasps onto the relief like a lifeline.

“Antonius,” the man tries. “I guess if you’re going to become my problem now, I’m Steve.”

“And what kind of... name is _that?”_ Antonius quips.

Steve looks unimpressed. He stands. “I just wanna know where you’re from if you think Antonius is a normal name and Steve isn’t. Then again, everything about this isn’t exactly normal. C’mon, then, _Antonius._ Let’s get some food in ya and see if we can figure some of this out.”

A hand is offered out to Antonius. He takes it tentatively, using the help to stand. He’s led to a kitchen, still holding hands with Steve. Much to Antonius’ discontent, Steve lets go of his hold to mill about the kitchen to prepare an easy meal.

Antonius slowly moves to sit at the round, wooden table off to the side of the room.

“What if I called you Tony?” Steve asks after a few minutes. He places a sandwich in front of Antonius.

“Tony?”

“Yeah, ‘cause that would be considered a normal name here. It’s kind of close to Antonius, but, y’know... more normal,” Steve shrugs. He slips into the chair across from Antonius.

“I... I guess,” Antonius picks at the bread of the sandwich. “Do you... do you think you could, um. Look at... something... for me?”

“I—sure?” Steve agrees, though confused.

Antonius nods, standing. He takes the corners of the plain, grey t-shirt he was wearing, and tugs it off. Steve lets out a low whistle, but Tony isn’t too bothered by it. But then, he turns, and that’s when he hears a gasp.

“Jesus _Christ!_ How in the world do you— _Christ!_ Yeah, okay, hospital _now,”_ Steve says hurriedly, harshly moving from his chair.

“No!” Antonius cries. “No... hospital. I only need to know if it’s still bleeding. That’s... that’s all that’s important.”

“It’s, uh,” he can feel Steve’s gentle touch on his back. “It’s not... it’s all scab. When did this happen? _How_ did this happen?”

Antonius shrugs, hanging his head. “I wish I knew,” he sighs.

Steve clicks his tongue. “Wait here,” he instructs. Antonius hears his footsteps fade, and minutes later, the distant running of water.

Steve returns later with a cold cloth. He carefully begins scrubbing at Antonius’ back, humming quietly. Antonius isn’t sure how long they’re there, but eventually Steve makes a satisfied noise.

“That looks better,” he comments, “Though I should probably get some dressing on that. Wouldn’t want it to open up again. It looks pretty clean, though, so I don’t think I need to put any disinfectant on it.”

“Is this normal for you?”

“Sort of,” Steve admits sheepishly. “I used to get in fights all the time, I’ve gotten messed up pretty bad before. My ma’s also a nurse. I know a good amount about first aid, different injuries and such. Your... thing, though... I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s odd. When did that happen?”

Antonius shrugs, turning to face Steve. “A day or so, maybe?”

Steve’s face contorts into immense confusion. “With the amount of blood... there’s no way those could have scabbed over in a _day.”_

“I don’t really have an answer, either.”

“I figured. But let’s finish getting you cleaned up so you can finish eating and get a shirt on before Bucky gets home, in the very least.”

 

-=-

 

“God, Stevie! What have I said about bringing home strays? Let alone _homeless, amnesiac_ strays?”

“Well I couldn’t just leave him stranded out there!” Steve argues with his roommate, Bucky. “You shoulda seen his back! It was like someone took a two- pronged pitchfork, dug it in and dragged it down! It _still_ looks like that!”

Antonius was sitting quietly in a separate room, fuddling with his thumbs. The apartment was quaint, with thin walls, so he was able to hear the entire argument, even after being sent off when it had started.

“One of these days you’re gonna end up bringin’ home a crazed serial killer, and I’m gonna come home to your dead body. What am I supposed to do then, huh?”

Antonius could almost hear Steve rolling his eyes. “I think I can tell the difference between someone in need and some murderer, Buck.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could,” Bucky shoots back.

“You know what, whatever,” Steve grumbles. “It’s not like I have anywhere to bring him. So shut up, and help me figure this out for once.”

Bucky, Antonius assumes, sighs. “Fine. Once. Just once. That’s it, then no more strangers off the street from now on, alright?”

There is likely an unspoken agreement between the two following. Antonius stands when he hears them approaching, wringing his fingers. He feels both awkward and out-of-place. It was obvious he wasn’t particularly wanted in the apartment.

“What’s his name anyway?”

“It’s, uh... Tony?”

“And why do I feel like I’m missing something?” Bucky asks skeptically as the two walk into the room where Antonius had been waiting.

“Because, um,” Antonius interjects, “my name is actually Antonius.”

Bucky looks him over like he had grown a second head. “What in the hell kind of—“

“—name is that? Yeah, I know,” Steve finishes for him, sighing, “We already established that.”

“And you said he doesn’t remember anything more than his name?”

“No, and when he managed to recall what it was—it wasn’t a pretty sight. ‘S grabbing his head and everything. Screaming,” Steve shivers. “Let’s hope the next time he remembers something it ain’t as bad.”

“I—I am right here, you know,” Antonius pouts.

Bucky waves a hand. The two continue to bicker, Steve shooting him nervous glances every so often. Antonius finds his arms wrapped around himself. For comfort, maybe. He wasn’t sure, as with a lot of things at the current moment.

As they continue to talking, Antonius feels the pounding slowly return. It starts just a tingling at the nape of his neck, crawling its way upwards. He tries to hold his ground with the internal battle, but by the time it reaches his forehead, he can’t help it.

Antonius isn’t screaming, no, but he’s stumbling. He attempts to stabilize himself on some furniture, but it just isn’t working. Steve rushes over to him to keep him upwards. Antonius feels sick.

“Holy _fuck,_ Stevie!” Bucky exclaims.

 “I was _trying_ to tell _you!”_ He shouts back. Antonius shakes his head desperately, as if willing all noise to cease. The migraine only felt worse with their loud arguing.

They don’t stop, however. They keep yelling, and fighting, and... and...

 _“Stop it!”_ Antonius shrieks. _“Stop it, stop it, stop it!”_

Both men immediately snap their mouths shut, and not just because of Antonius’ cries.

It was like a mini-tornado had torn through the room in a second. The lights were out, decorations that had been on shelves were now on the floor. Both Bucky and Steve glanced around wildly, while Antonius was still clutching miserably at his head.

“Who in the goddamn _fuck_ did you bring home, Stevie?” Bucky whispers incredulously.

“I... I don’t know,” Steve whispers back. Steve holds out a cautious hand, “Tony? Are you alright?”

Antonius felt woozy, swaying on his feet. “Mm hm. I just... I think I just need to... to...”

Antonius only hears a quiet gasp before he slumps to the floor.

 

-=-

 

When Antonius wakes up, it’s to an empty room—the same one from before, nonetheless.

He’s laying down on a bed, groggy and disoriented. Antonius can hear mumbling in some foreign language off to the side. Oddly enough, though, he understands—it’s a hushed prayer.

And oddly enough—he could remember. He could remember so much more than just his name.

Antonius sits up hesitantly. There’s a noticeable weight extruding from his back, but he finds he isn’t in much of a mood to care. He clears his throat to catch Steve’s attention.

The man nearly falls out of his chair, eyes nearly bugging out of his head. _“In ainm Dé!”_

Antonius’ eyes go similarly wide. “What? What is it?”

“You’re... you’re...” Steve is scrambling out of his chair. “What the _fuck?”_

“I—what? What is it, Steve?” Antonius was, quite frankly, a bit scared. “What _is_ it?”

“The... on your...” Steve makes an odd gesture with his hands. Then, breathlessly, “Wings.”

Wings? Wings! Oh, lord. His wings. Antonius thought... no. He had lost them. They were gone, for good. They’d been torn off his body. That’s why he was here. That’s why he was stuck here on Earth, where he shouldn’t be. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He remembers.

Obadiah, the traitor. That’s why he was here.

Antonius lifts a wing that somehow, some _way_ was still attached to him, and then the other. They look tattered and ugly—definitely not the pearly white, downy soft they used to be. It was disheartening, in the least.

Antonius was so distracted by his discovery, he hadn’t noticed Steve get closer, hesitantly sitting on the bed next to him. Steve carefully reaches a hand out, but retracts it once he notices what he’s doing.

“Sorry,” Steve mutters, ducking his head.

“No, it’s...” Antonius trails off. “Do you want to...?”

Steve looks back up with innocent eyes. “Can I? Touch them?”

Antonius shrugs. “Sure, if you want. I wouldn’t know why, but... yes.”

Steve’s touch starts feather-light, but it develops into more of a pet. After the first full stroke, a shiver ran down Antonius’ spine.

“If you don’t like that...” Steve says hoarsely. Antonius shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine. Go ahead.”

Steve complies with Antonius’ word. At first, the sensation felt strange and unfamiliar. It wasn’t normal, per se, for an angel to pet another’s wings. Eventually, however, Antonius found himself leaning into the touch. He wasn’t sure he had ever had anyone who was so... gentle with him.

“They’re beautiful, you know,” Steve tells him after some time.

“No, they’re really not,” Antonius challenges. “You should have seen them before.”

Steve tilts his head. “Before?”

“Before I fell,” Antonius admits ashamedly. “I... Steve? I remember. Everything.”

A lock of hair is brushed from his face by Steve, who is smiling shyly, but kindly. He watches Antonius through long, blond eyelashes. “Everything?”

Antonius furrows his eyebrows. “Is there something I’m forgetting?”

Steve’s face falls microscopically, before he refits his lips with a saddened smile. He shakes his head solemnly, leaving Antonius to wonder what he done wrong. “Never mind,” Steve says softly.

“No, I want to know,” Antonius urges. “What is it?”

Steve shakes his head again. “I said never mind, Tony. You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Maybe... over time... but not right now,” Steve lets out a long exhale, before standing. “If you need something, I’ll be here. Just call for me.”

Antonius was upset, watching Steve’s small frame retreat into the hallway, shoulders hunched. Antonius slouches back onto the bed’s headboard. He was almost certain he hadn’t forgotten anything.

Determined, Antonius scouts the newfound-old memories.

 _Being framed, Obadiah betraying his trust, being pushed from the heavens._ Nothing of recent memory seemed missing.

 _Maybe it was even longer ago,_ he thinks, then proceeds to dig deeper.

Antonius remembers... _quiet humming of some made-up song. The soft touch of large hands, far too gentle for what they’ve done in the past. The warmth and love he felt as someone held him close..._

_A kind gaze. A caring heart. And—_

Oh, look at that. He was crying.

A warm, salted tear rolls down his cheek. Antonius stares blankly at a particularly interesting spot on the blanket covering his legs. He sniffles, tears flowing more consistently now. Antonius wasn’t even entirely sure why he was crying—he just knew he very deeply missed the touch, the feeling of being loved by whoever he had been with.

Antonius just wished he could remember. That seemed to be his only issue now, didn’t it? Of course the universe wouldn’t allow him to know everything he had before exile. The world was just funny like that. Funny, and cruel.

The angel is unsure of how long he stays limp, weeping and whimpering faintly, stuck in his own thoughts. He just wanted to _know._

Antonius figures it has been a while, pathetically enough, what with the way Steve explicitly states when he re-enters the room, “Hey, it’s been an hour.”

“Hey, it’s been an hour,” he says gently, walking in and setting a steaming bowl on the dresser, “I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some soup. You were out for a few days.”

When Steve turns around to face Antonius, the content smile he held disappears instantly, the expression replaced by worry. He rushes over to the bedside.

Steve’s touch is frantic but careful, and his tone is tender. “Oh, Tony. Why are you crying?”

“I... I don’t—I don’t know,” he hiccups. “I don’t—“

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re okay,” Steve consoles, wiping a fresh tear from Antonius’ cheek with his thumb. “You’re okay. Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, maybe it’s what he says. Maybe it’s completely unrelated—but there was no denying something had triggered his brain to remove the final blindfold over his memories. Antonius tenses with the gradual revelation.

“Stephano?” He croaks, uncertain.

Steve breaks into a bright grin, eyes lighting up. “You _do_ remember,” he smiles.

“I think I do,” Antonius whispers. “Though, I thought you were bigger.”

 _Fair enough to say that,_ he thinks. Steve is definitely not the same as Stephano—just vaguely similar.

Steve laughs. “I—yeah. I am. Upstairs. It just so happens this vessel is not,” he shrugs.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Tony. I’m just sorry we had to find each other like this,” he apologizes softly, tucking hair behind Antonius’ ear. “I’m sorry it took this much.”

“You disappeared,” Antonius recalls. “What happened?”

Steve—or Stephano, he supposed—sighs. “I was sent on a mission. A long enough mission, I figured, to get me out of the way so Obadiah could frame you for his actions. After I pieced it together, I wanted to go back, but it was impossible with Obadiah’s threats and lackeys—so I worked to try and get you out of it entirely from afar, but then I heard you were to be banished...” Steve shakes his head. “I diverged from that path to finding a way to get you back to the heavens, where you belong. Where you deserve to be.”

“And?”

Steve frowns. “I’m still working on it.”

“Oh,” Antonius’ hope staggers. “Well, we can work on it together here, then, right?”

Steve smiles pityingly. “My mission’s almost over, Tony. I have to go back soon. My vessel knows everything I know already about this but he won’t be much help from hereon. I won’t be able to travel back and forth often. I’m sorry, Tony, I really am.”

Antonius doesn’t say anything. Steve stands, leaning forward to kiss Antonius on the temple, before going to retrieve the soup left on the dresser for him. It had cooled off, but was still warm enough to not be repulsive.

“Have this then join us in the kitchen, alright?”

Antonius nods. “But what about...?” He turns to gesture his head to his ruined wings, but they’re no longer visible. Antonius could still feel the ghost of them, though.

Steve winks. “Eat up,” he advises, before walking out of the room a second time.

As he sips on the broth, he can hear Bucky and Steve. Bucky opened with, _“So these walls are pretty thin, huh?”_

And as much as he’d hate to admit, he was definitely eavesdropping on the oncoming disagreement. Again.

  _“Yes, I know. You’ve mentioned plenty,”_ Steve replies nonchalantly.

 _“Well, I knew you were starting to act a bit weird, Stevie, but what in the hell were you talking about in there?”_ Bucky asks, straight to the point. Antonius could imagine Steve freezing on the spot.

 _“I, um,”_ Steve coughs.

 _“Stephano? Obadiah? Mission? Vessel?”_ Bucky questions. _“Mind giving me an explanation?”_

Someone huffs—Steve, Antonius assumes. _“I—I’m sharing a body. With... someone. Not exactly a person, but. Yeah. I don’t really have a reasonable explanation for this. Or a believable one, for that matter.”_

_“Sharing a body? With who?”_

_“Stephano. An angel,”_ Antonius could almost hear Steve’s wince. _“It’s... complicated. They need vessels to wander Earth because they don’t have a physical form here. I happen to be one of those vessel-things.”_

 _“Is that how... is that how you’ve been healing faster? Less hospital trips, asthma attacks? Is that why you’ve stopped gettin’ into unnecessary fights?”_ Bucky interrogates.

 _“Yeah. It is,”_ Steve admits. _“It’s nice though. I feel less fragile.”_

 _“I’ll bet,”_ Bucky snorts. _“But... how do you mean sharing a body?”_

 _“I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like having someone else in your head with you. He mostly lets me have control, but back there, when Tony recognized him—me—I let him take reign. I don’t know how, but yeah,”_ Steve attempts his best at explaining.

 _“Is Antonius—is that_ his _vessel, then?”_

_“No, it’s not. He’s been, uh, ex-communicated, I guess, so that’s his own form. It’s just him. What he would have resembled in heaven.”_

It’s now that Antonius notices he’s just about finished with the soup.

He scoops the last bit into his mouth, the muffled talking in the other room becoming unimportant chatter. He places the bowl aside to push the blanket over him away. He brings the empty bowl with him when walking to the kitchen.

Conversation-slash-explanation cease as he enters the room. Bucky seems less guarded this time around, but skeptical nonetheless.

“An angel, huh?” Is all Bucky says.

Ignoring him, Steve asks caringly, “Are you feeling better, Tony?”

The addressed nods, putting the bowl down on the table. “Steve?”

“Hm?”

“I think—I _want_ to work on finding a way back. Now. I can’t... I can’t let Obadiah get away with what he did.”

“I agree,” Steve says with an air of finality. “Let’s figure this thing out before it’s too late.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed... I just really like angel (especially fallen angel) tropes. I dunno.
> 
> Because this is the second story that I've written about that kind of thing, I decided to make a series of it. Check it out if you want!! :)
> 
> Also,  
> (“In ainm Dé!” means "In God's Name!")
> 
> <3


End file.
